


If Heaven is as Heaven Does (Then This is Hell for Sure)

by Nighthaunting



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Chance Meetings, Cross-Faction Romance, Faction Leaders Behaving Badly, M/M, Warcraft Kinkmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nighthaunting/pseuds/Nighthaunting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varian and Lor’themar meet and hit it off. For this prompt on the Warcraft Kinkmeme: After an annoying encounter with Garrosh, Varian heads to a small cave in the mountains to cool off, without his royal guard. When he gets there, he finds a lone Lor'themar, who's also annoyed at Garrosh for... idk, his poor treatment of the blood elf girls or something? Messing with The Hair? Either way, the two of them bitch together about Garrosh as politically correctly as they can, and hit it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After the fall of the Lich King, the Argent Tournament turned from a defiant honing of skill right at the doorstep of Icecrown to a true celebration. Varian was constantly amazed at the resilience of people, and seeing such open joy and fellowship amongst the Alliance was heartening in ways he hadn’t imagined. Of course, on the flipside was the Horde doing the same, but in the face of such a victory Varian felt as though it could at least be tolerated.

He had been attempting to avoid having to interact with anyone from the Horde in an effort to preserve that idea, and had so far been successful. It seemed, however, that he could never be entirely lucky; he should never have come to sit by the fire in one of the great public tents. The Alliance Pavilion may have been colder, but at least he wouldn’t have had to deal with the awful certainty that he would be forced to be sociable. Watching a very distinguished Sin’dorei man enter the tent trailed by attendants and seeing Tirion Fordring move to greet him presented Varian with the undeniable conclusion that soon he would have to be pleasant. The paladin had been conspiring with Jaina, and the two had been annoyingly attempting to promote better relations between the Alliance and the Horde. He was proven right when Tirion swept the tent with his eyes while leading the elf in. 

“Varian!” the paladin called. Leading the Sin’dorei through the tent with purpose, Tirion looked as though he was again on his self-appointed mission to force Varian into being open-minded.

“Varian,” Tirion said again, gesturing at the elf, “may I present Lord Lor’themar Theron. Lord Theron, this is King Varian Wrynn.” The paladin smiled at both of them. Varian took comfort in the fact that the elf looked about as pleased at Tirion’s introduction as he did.

“Lord Theron,” Varian bit out, “a pleasure, I’m sure.” He recognized the Sin’dorei Regent now, the eyepatch and distinctive scar giving him away even if he was wearing plain mail and leathers with a heavy cloak instead of the regalia he had been in when Varian had last seen him. Etiquette dictated that he stand and offer his hand; Varian grudgingly did so. The Regent pulled off a heavy glove before grasping Varian’s hand and replying, “King Varian, the pleasure is mine.”

There were sword calluses on the elf’s hand—despite the ridiculous lacquered nails the Sin’dorei considered fashionable—in a slightly different pattern than archery or the two-handed sword belted at the Regent’s waist suggested. Despite himself, Varian was curious; looking up at the elf he asked, “Lord Theron, I had heard you were a ranger, isn’t a sword a bit unusual?”

Tirion smiled at him again from over the Regent’s shoulder, doubtlessly pleased that Varian was attempting to socialize in a civilized manner, before turning away and catching someone else in conversation. The Regent seemed to consider his question before replying, “The bow is the most common weapon for a ranger, yes.” He paused and gestured to the chair across from Varian’s. “Would you mind?” Varian shook his head and retook his seat, the Regent lowering himself into the chair and arranging his long legs before continuing, “I happened to have a talent for the blade and was trained accordingly, as I imagine happens amongst humans as well?”

As they found common ground to converse about and grew more comfortable, Varian was pleasantly surprised. Lor’themar was an excellent conversationalist—especially where martial disciplines and military history were concerned—as well as being deeply honorable and possessing a certain dry wit. In spite of his best efforts to remind himself that this was his enemy, Varian found that he had enjoyed meeting the Regent immensely and actually regretted it when he eventually excused himself from their conversation.

<3

If he had any good humor left over from his surprisingly pleasant introduction to Lord Theron the day before it was quickly destroyed, though. Varian was nearly growling with irritation as he tramped along the trail leading from the Tournament Grounds into some of the surrounding area. That damn infuriating orc; Garrosh Hellscream might have been newly appointed Warchief but he was still a pain in the neck. Trying to pick a fight with Varian—in a sanctuary no less! In an effort to cool his temper and not have Jaina lecture him about trying to make nice with the Horde, Varian had set out in search of the cave that was supposedly on the Tournament Grounds.

Spotting what looked like the cave opening, Varian carefully entered, hand ready on the hilt of his sword in case he encountered something hostile. Inside the cave, he was surprised to find someone familiar was already there.

“Lord Theron,” he greeted in surprise. The Regent was in the same plain but sturdy clothes as the day before; the hood of his cloak was pushed back and his pale hair was bound in a loose braid.

“King Varian,” he acknowledged with a smile and a slight nod. “Have you come to explore the cave as well?”

Faced with the Regent’s pleasant nature, Varian found his ire lessening, and he carefully navigated the rocky ground until he stood beside the elf.

“I’m afraid I’ve only come to get away from your Warchief,” he answered honestly. Varian wasn’t sure what kind of reaction to expect, but a rather inelegant snort wasn’t it.

“Ah, I’m afraid I must apologize then, as your current predicament is something of my fault. It seems Garrosh heard that we managed to speak without coming to blows and was very upset by the idea.” The Regent’s droll statement drew a short laugh from Varian.

“I take it he tried to draw you into an altercation as well?” Varian asked.

“He tried,” Lor’themar acknowledged, “but rather failed.”

Varian glanced sidelong at the elf, taking in the greatsword at his hip and the practical armor he wore. “I wonder, Lord Theron," he began, thinking of the proper way to phrase his request, “would you be interested in a friendly spar?"

The Regent seemed to weigh his proposal a moment before smiling at him, “Of course, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind clearing a training ring for a while…"

Varian cut him off, “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me, I meant would you be interested in a spar now?"

His eagerness must have shown on his face because Lor’themar gave him a sharp look, considering. Despite his efforts he could feel his fighter’s spirit coming to the fore; residual anger from the confrontation with Garrosh and the prospect of what promised to be a great fight spurring it on. After a few minutes Varian became convinced that the Regent would turn him down, but then he saw the barest flicker in his eye; slowly a very different sort of smile spread over the elf’s face. Varian felt his blood rush hot though his veins, singing with anticipation.

"Alright."

<3

Varian knew he was grinning like a madman but he couldn’t help it. It had been a long while since he had faced anyone of the Regent’s caliber as a swordsman. They danced around each other, predicting moves and seeing through feints almost as though they had been sparring for years, blades rattling for the force of the blows traded. It had become more than a simple spar and neither of them seemed to care.

Lor’themar as quick and quiet as a ghost while Varian stalked and herded like the wolf of his heart. No blood had been spilled yet but Varian knew it was only a matter of time; the bloodlust slowly coming to both of them as well as another, more visceral feeling.

Their blades locked and Varian only nearly avoided being disarmed, Lor’themar’s eye meeting his as the Regent smirked. Something about the amused quirk of his lips set off something deep in Varian’s chest. Before he could adequately grasp what he was doing, Varian released his sword, leaning forward and kissing Lor’themar.

Shocked out of the reverie of the fight, he began to draw back, but Lor’themar tangled a hand in his hair and pulled him into a much more involved kiss. This close, he could feel warmth radiating from the elf, and was slowly drawn into responding, one of his hands falling to rest at the Regent’s waist and the other looping over his shoulders to pull him closer.

Slowly their kiss became as much of a battle as they had just fought, both of them vying for dominance. Varian’s stubbornness and Lor’themar’s greater experience being equally matched in each other. Hands began to find buckles and clasps, searching out ways to free each other from the restraints of armour.

Stumbling back over an uneven patch of ground, Varian found himself sprawled over Lor’themar on his own heavy fur cloak. The Regent looked up at him, visible eye dark with lust, and Varian knew he must look much the same. They kissed again, slower this time; savoring the feeling of having someone so near. Lor’themar ran his claws lightly across Varian’s back, the human shivering at the sensation.

They lost the rest of their clothes soon after, wrestling on the cloak until they settled on a position that pleased both of them. Varian with his back against the furs and Lor’themar burning against his front, riding him, head thrown back and long pale hair cascading over his shoulders. Then again, Varian being drawn into bruising kisses as he tangled between Lor’themar’s legs. And again, Varian driving his hips forward as Lor’themar bit savagely into his shoulder.

Afterward, laying together panting and bloodied and sated, Varian looked over at Lor’themar. He knew he had gone too far, crossing the bounds of factions and loyalties. He knew he should feel ashamed, but all he could find in himself was satisfaction and contentment.


	2. A Sane Man Searches for His Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varian tries to forget what happened with Lor’themar, but meeting him again re-ignites what he knows he should resist.

If Varian had thought that watching Lor’themar—the Regent, he corrected himself—gracefully rise from the furs and dress was the end he was slowly proving himself mistaken. He tried to tell himself it was, of course, tried to re-write his memories to believe that was all there was. An ill-advised fling, nothing more.

But he was never successful; the truth crept in like trickling water, ready to freeze at a moment’s notice and open all the cracks. Laying awake at night he was beset by the same feeling that had possessed him after he had come to his senses: the knowledge that he should feel guilt and reproach but the inability to grasp those feelings. Like some kind of infernal memory aid reliving those feelings brought what had really happened into his mind’s eye.

Lor’themar stretched out beside him, practically glowing. His own hand, fascinated and clumsily tracing where the delicate lines of a tattoo were intertwined with old scars on the elf’s hip. Watching as Lor’themar sat up and worked deft fingers through his hair, tying it into a loose braid again. Both of them rising to search out their strewn clothes, passing retrieved items to one another. The bite mark on his shoulder beginning to ache and Lor’themar noticing; leaning down to seal his mouth over it and lap at the few beads of blood that had welled in the impressions of his teeth before pressing a bandage onto it. Varian nearly undoing all their work for the thrill that ran down his spine seeing Lor’themar run his tongue over his bottom lip afterwards. When they were finally dressed again—sword belts and cloaks and armour back in place—and the elf had pulled him close and kissed him breathless one last time before smiling regretfully and striding out into the chilly evening.

The traitorous thought of what it would be like to have Lor’themar again plagued him. The more rational but infinitely crueler thought that Lor’themar might have gone back to Silvermoon and merely cast his memory aside was just as harsh. Varian’s knowledge of the Sin’dorei court is shaky at best, but he’d heard the same scandalous rumors that swept Stormwind whenever a neutral trader made port with a precious cargo of fine silks, rich wines, rare potions, and intricate jewelry. It made him sick with worry to think that perhaps one day the traders would bring not pointless gossip about the Magisterium or tales of some wild festival but the story fresh from the lips of some courtier that Lord Theron had bedded the King of Stormwind.

Varian tried to soothe his anxieties by reassuring himself that the Regent was more honorable than that, but his niggling doubts and guilt conjured an even worse thought. Himself and Lor’themar in conference; the elf leaning forward and quietly telling him that unless his demands were met the world would find out just how the Alliance’s leader upheld his own law of ‘no fraternization’.

It was a nightmare. He was a fool. Torn between the memory of laying with Lor’themar at night and the fear of having it discovered in the day. Varian had never been able to stand hypocrisy, yet here he was, the worst kind of hypocrite.

<3

Slowly, after months of waiting for it all to explode in his face, Varian began to relax. His fears were eroded by time, although his fantasies remained as vivid and guiltily focused on the Regent as ever. When Jaina sent him an invitation to the Kirin Tor’s annual Noblegarden party he accepted without a second thought.

It was only after he had arrived in Dalaran that it occurred to Varian the Regent had likely been invited as well. He briefly considered finding a mage to portal him back to Stormwind but then rebuked himself. He wasn’t going to run away.

Seeing Jaina happy made him feel guilty for wanting to leave, and Varian accompanied her into the ballroom. It seemed that they were immediately surrounded by cheerful people celebrating the holiday and for a while Varian forgot his worries entirely.

His untroubled state came to an end when Jaina steered him over to a an unfamiliar Sin’dorei. For a moment he was so distracted by the strange mask the elf was wearing he didn’t notice who was standing beside him, but he saw a sparkle of silver out of the corner of his eye and turned. Lor’themar was here. For a few seconds he simply stared at the Regent; distantly he heard Jaina introduce him to the masked elf, ‘Archmage Sunreaver’, and he greeted him distractedly.

If Lor’themar was perturbed by his staring he didn’t show it, merely smiling faintly and nodding to Varian as Jaina and the other Archmage distracted each other with conversation and slowly drifted away.

"King Varian, I’m glad to see you well," the Regent said when they were relatively alone. Hearing Lor’themar’s voice again snapped him out of his reverie and he finally, truly registered the other’s presence. The last time Varian had seen him Lor’themar had been wearing plain mail and leathers. Not so, now: the Regent looking effervescent in a long emerald green coat with an embroidered design of flowering vines done in silver and spring green, the rich brown leather of his breeches and boots complementing it. Instead of the loose braid of before Lor’themar’s hair was pulled back and seemingly secured with a jeweled pin, falling forward over his shoulders like a wash of starlight. The sight of him hit Varian like a brick to the face.

"Lord Theron," he said at last, feeling like a bumbling fool. There was no reason the Regent should have this affect on him, after such a long time. “Thank you, you’re looking well yourself."

He looked more than well. He looked like everything Varian had dreamed of for months.

Lor’themar laughed, the corner of his visible eye crinkling slightly as he smiled. “It’s kind of you to notice," he said, mouth quirking upward again at one side.

Of all the things Varian had expected when he met Lor’themar again this casual greeting wasn’t one of them. The Regent gave no indication that what had transpired between them had happened at all, and for a moment Varian had the mad thought that it might have been a fever dream. They spoke to each other for a few more minutes—idle chatter about nothing of importance—before Lor’themar gracefully excused himself. Varian watched him wind through the crowd and then step through the wide open doors leading to the large gardens outside.

Varian stood there for a few moments before snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter’s tray and heading out into the garden himself. The terrace that overlooked the garden was empty so he continued down the stone steps into the garden itself. The garden was much larger than it seemed from the terrace; following a path that seemed to lead somewhere through the planters and towering shrubberies, Varian wondered what exactly had possessed him to come out here.

Deciding that if he didn’t find Lor’themar soon he would drink both glasses of champagne and go back to the party to get spectacularly drunk, Varian forged onwards. Emerging from the hedges into a small courtyard with a fountain, Varian nearly startled. He supposed he had almost been hoping not to find Lor’themar, that he would be able to tell himself that he had searched but not found and salvage his pride as well as stopping his traitorous fascination. But there Lor’themar was, staring contemplatively at the gently trickling water.

Varian cleared his throat awkwardly before saying, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?"

Lor’themar looked over to him and smiled, “Not at all, although I must admit this is most unexpected."

Varian approached him and offered one of the glasses; Lor’themar accepted, his nails clinking against the glass as he took it. Offering a silent toast to Varian, the Regent sipped delicately from the glass. Flying in the face of all the common sense he possessed, Varian was suddenly upset.

"What…" he began, “what if I’d poisoned that." As soon as the words were out of his mouth Varian began to mentally kick himself. Why had he said that?

"You didn’t" Lor’themar said with a certainty that only fueled Varian’s ire.

"How do you know that?" he snapped.

Lor’themar looked at him with amusement shining clearly in his eye and took another sip from his glass, “Because only a fool would waste such good champagne on poison, and you don’t strike me as a fool."

"I…" Varian couldn’t think of anything to say, his anger fading as quickly as it had come upon him. Finally, he tasted his champagne as well. Lor’themar was right, damn him, the champagne was too good to waste on poison. They stood silently together for a while, savoring their drinks.

After he drained his glass Lor’themar set it down on the rim of the fountain before wandering in the direction of the wilder part of the garden—the barely tamed foliage making it seem more like a small forest had grown. Varian found himself following suit, admiring how the Regent moved soundlessly with a fighter’s grace.

It was only after they had gone a way into the thicket that Varian thought to ask where they were going. Lor’themar arched one of his very impressive eyebrows at him, “Do you often follow people with no idea as to where they are going?"

Varian scowled at him, mentally devising an insult to hurl back, when Lor’themar laughed again. “To be perfectly honest," he said. answering Varian’s question, “I haven’t the slightest idea, but it is a wonderful garden," he reached out and pressed a hand to one of the trees surrounding them, “these trees sing with so much magic that you could probably hear them if you listened closely enough."

Ignoring the emphasis the elf had put on ‘you’, Varian glanced around at the trees, “They’re singing?" he asked skeptically, “Is it normal for trees to sing?"

Lor’themar looked at him as though he couldn’t believe Varian had to ask, “When they’re happy, and well cared for," he clarified, one side of his mouth quirking upward once again. Varian had the distinct feeling that he was being made fun of. He wanted to punch the elf and find his way out of this garden. He wanted to watch as that small quirk slowly grew into a smile. He wanted to kiss Lor’themar senseless.

He settled on the third option, catching one of Lor’themar’s wrists and pulling him close. One of his hands went to the back of the Regent’s neck while the other settled at his waist, Lor’themar throwing his arms over Varian’s shoulders as their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the saga of Varian and Lor’themar’s outdoor sexcapades continues. Varian is bad at wooing, Lor’themar thinks his lameness is cute, and if only they were on the same side they would be such bros I can’t even.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song The Captain and the Hourglass by Laura Marling.


End file.
